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929 SILVER POOL 
by 
BEULAH FIELD 





Class 5"// 

Copyriglitlj" /Og?.. 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



A SILVER POOL 



A SILVER 
POOL 



by 



BEULAH FIELD 




NEW YORK 

MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 

1922 






Copyright, 1922, by 
MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 



RPR 20 1922 



S)C!.A661377 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Inspiration 9 

"Beggar-man-Thief" 10 

Carnival 11 

Branded 12 

For an Elizabethan Garland 13 

When I Remember 14 

The Wayfarer 15 

Pierrot 16 

To Ly-y-Hane 17-18 

Wind of the Sea 19 

Perhaps 20 

In the Street of Painted Flowers ..... 21-22 

Mystery 23 

Watch-Fires 24 

Tokens 25 

Cameo 26 

Blue Flames and Flowers 27 

The Law 28 

Miracle 29 

Values 30 

Fame 31 

Rainbow 32 

Glass Beads 33 

Willows 34 

The Dead Lover 35 

Little White Gate 36 

Immortal 37 

My Communion 38 

Stars 39 

Disappointments 40 

Interlude 41 

To My Father 42 

Confessional 43 

Recompense 44 

Mockery 45 

Rebellion 46 

The Messenger 47 

"Needles and Pins" 48 

To June 49 

To CONGDON 50 



TO CONGDON 



INSPIRATION 

I BRIDLED my soul in its temple, 

Waiting a while, 
Till I knew the peace of a tempered touch, 

And changeless smile. 

Then I made my heart a silver pool 

Of melody. 
And stars came down from the sky at night 

And bathed in me. 



-9— 



"BEGGAR-MAN, THIEF" 

A BEGGAR on the edge of town 
Looked up and smiled at me, 

And offered for the coin I held, 
A seedling laurel tree. 

A merchant in the market-place, 

A laughing, lordly knave, 
Filled my hands with tarnished gems, 

And took the coin I gave. 

If I could find that beggar-man, 
I'd give to him my soul, 

If he would share his bread with me, 
And coppers from his bowl. 



—10— 



CARNIVAL 

I GAVE a rose to a dancing girl, 

She did not know 
It was tribute I paid to a joy, 

Dead long ago. 

I sang my song in the market-place. 

They did not hear 
I was challenging love with a laugh, 

And grief and fear. 

Life danced on my heart with careless feet, 

And never knew 
The beauty it gave in gift to me. 

Was tied with rue. 

I walked the ways of a heedless world. 

And found it mad. 
So, now I drift in the wake of dreams. 

And I am glad. 



—11— 



BRANDED 

I HAYE found me a darkling mistress, 

Who is all my need and desire; 

Her slave in a willing bondage, 

I bathe in her opal fire. 

She has given me gorgeous dawns 

From the rim of her saffron seas; 

There is joy in the burning wind 

That comes from her fronded keys. 

I know the grip of her brilliant days. 

And the scorching spell of her nights, 

When pagan gods seduce me 

With the lure of their heathen rites. 

I know the call of her hard, white roads, 

The choking heat of her rains. 

And I laugh in my soul with God, 

At the lash of her hurricanes. 

I have dipped in her amethyst bowl. 

And painted me splendid dreams, 

But I know the clutch of a dreadful fear, 

When her crawling jungle screams. 

I have felt the kiss of her fever, 

That she hides in her tainted breath. 

And have heard the roll of her drums. 

When they beat their songs of death. 

I have trailed with her treacherous spawn, 

And sinned with her exiled band; 

I am tuned to her siren voice, 

And seared with her vicious brand. 

I know the taste of her poisoned bread, 

I am drunk with her evil wine. 

But I am in thrall to her Cross, 

Since she marked me with its Sign. 

—12— 



FOR AN ELIZABETHAN GARLAND 

It is content I give to you, 
And you? 
You give me love. 
But I would have the sweet content, 
And you? 
Would you have love? 



—13— 



WHEN I REMEMBER 

You never come and speak to me when I am 

glad, 
But only if the flowers in my garden droop 

with rain, 
And when the sunlight runs away from skies 

gone mad, 
Then I am hushed, and hear your voice again. 
Although I light my lamp and bar the door, 
I feel your presence crowding, more and more, 
Until I crouch among the shadows on the floor. 
And watch my memories dance their dance of 

pain. 



—14— 



THE WAYFARER 

Only the wind from the Seven Hills 
Can mate with the heart of me, 

And the mist, adrift on the cliffs at night, 
That blows from the dusky sea. 

Only the song of the flying stars 

Can reach to my muted soul. 
And speed my feet on the wild, free track 

That swings from Pole to Pole. 

I spell my lore from the sand of dreams, 

I sleep by eternal meres. 
My stirrup-cup is the kiss of dawn, 

My hearth is the boundless spheres. 



—15— 



PIERROT 

Pierrot came and watched me 

Sewing on my seam, 
And handed me gay, silken threads, 

Broken from a dream. 

He helped me trim the lantern 
That hangs beside my door, 

And brought me petaled thoughts 
To sprinkle on the floor. 

He picked a rose and left me, 

In the shadowed light, 
But I found the gate ajar, 

Swinging in the night. 

Then I ran and gathered stars. 
From the hollows of the sea. 

And pinned them on. my breast — 
Pierrot called to me. 



—16- 



TO LY-Y-HANE 

Chinese Poetess, 12th Century A, D* 

Once I heard a singing wind, 

Across a still lagoon, 
I thought a thousand bells of jade 

Were swinging in the moon. 

And once, I felt soft petals 
Fall from a flowering quince. 

And trembled when I half divined 
Your song, that died long since. 

Above the dread and somber beat 

Of mighty, dragon wings. 
Perhaps my quiet heart will hear 

Your lute of silver strings. 



LY-Y'HAH^E 

* Ly-y-Hane lived during the Song Dynasty, in the 12th 
century of our era. She is admired, not only as a clever and 
graceful composer of verses, but as a superior intellect and a 
true scholar, accustomed to all the minutiae and intricacies of 
the art of poetry. 

The incurable wound of her heart, bleeding in solitude, is 
practically the only subject with which she deals. 

As far as can be known, the love that devours this Chinese 
Sappho is ignored by him who inspires it. 

One might say she was a flower become enamoured of a bird. 
—17— 



The changing seasons are the only events, the objects that 
adorn her home the only evidences of a life consecrated to 
the expression of a single sentiment. 

She lived entombed with her suffering, hoping never to be 
deprived of it or cured, and she named in advance the vol- 
ume that posterity would perhaps collect of all her scattered 
verses: "The Debris of My Heart.*' 

From The Book of Jade. 
(Translated by James Whittall.) 



—18- 



WIND OF THE SEA 

The Wind of the Sea is my turbulent lover, 
When he gathers me close and kisses my face, 
I rise to the zenith, there to discover 
Peace, in surrender to his fierce embrace; 
He holds me and folds me in whirlpools of light, 
Then lulls me to sleep, in his arms, with the 
night. 



■19— 



PERHAPS 

It must be hard to be the Moon, 

And weary of the sky; 
Although I weary of my path, 

Someday I can die, 
But then perhaps I'll trail with her. 

And weary of the sky! 



—20— 



IN THE STREET OF PAINTED 
FLOWERS 

When will the whirl of this wheel be done? 
Does the Spinner dream, and my shroud un- 

spun? 
I am spent with the lust of greedy nights, 
The fitful flame, and greying lights 
Masking joy, in this devil's dance. 
That has tripped my feet on the road of Chance. 
My song is hushed, and once it sped, 
As water ripples the river's bed, 
Through laughing days in the gay bazars, 
And freed my soul beneath the stars. 
Now I am bought, as then I was sold. 
But Allah witness, this is not gold. 
But tinsel coin, that eats my heart. 
And sets me aside, a thing apart. 
Does Heaven sleep, that it lets me be. 
And blinds my eyes, that I may not see 
The sun, that came to kiss my cheek 
When I stepped from my tent to the waiting 

Sheik? 
I am sick for the sound of camels' feet 
Padding their way through the languid heat, 
The scent of cool on the evening air. 
And the grip of the muezzin's call to prayer. 
In those desert nights, where the shadows clung 
To the blowing sand, that swirled and stung, 
When my lord bent down and I knew his lips, 
I was fulfilled to my finger tips. 
Then, I was slave to a king, at least, 
Now, I am slave to a furtive beast. 

—21— 



Did Allah mock, when he stilled my breath, 
Then called me back from the paths of death, 
To dance to the tune of reeling spheres, 
With only a dream to bridge the years? 
Ash is the flame of my painted shell, 
I have no heart save the desert's spell. 
Mine is the fugitive soul of a slave. 
And I would go back to my sand-swept grave. 



-22— 



MYSTERY 

I BEAR on my breast the touch and sign 

Of God and His oriflamme, 
But only the somber eyes of Death 

Can tell me who I am. 



—23— 



WATCH-FIRES 

I CAEE not if the touch of Time 
Destroys the outer garment of my heart, 
For deep within, steadfast, a living fire. 
Love burns, and guards your shrine apart. 

I care not if Death's borders hold 
A splendid peace, deep as an unshoaled sea, 
I count peace only in the quiet joy 
That comes, when you are glad with me. 

I care not if the ruthless years 
Shadow my soul, in passing on their flight, 
If, through the devastating dark, I know 
Your love, a tidal- wave of light. 



—24— 



TOKENS 

I BUILT a little fire yesterday at dusk, 
To burn the gifts of all my broken years, 
And at the last I tossed upon the flames. 
The crystalled drops, that once were falling 
tears. 

When morning came, I gathered all the ashes 

up, 
Then swept my hearth, to make it clean again, 
And found, within a crevice of the stones, 
A jewel, that I knew had once been pain. 



—25— 



CAMEO 

A LITTLE room, a dream-lit hearth, 
Rosemary in a bowl of jade; 

Budding orchard, thrush's song, 
A golden morning, dappled shade. 

A steel-blue sea, the wind's high will, 
A red sun dropping down the sky, 

Purple shadows on the dunes, 
Upon the road, just you and I. 



--26— 



BLUE FLAMES AND FLOWERS 

Blue flames, shining in my heart — 

Twice lovely stars, 
Dear lips, folded close with mine. 

Sweet as scented jars, 

If a myriad scarlet flowers, 

In a jasper bowl. 
Distilled to leaping fires. 

Could weld us soul to soul, 

I would go across the heavens, 

After night had gone, 
And gather for you dreams, 

In the gardens of the dawn. 



—27— 



THE LAW 

Out of the dark of a night of rain, 
Day has flowered to hght again; 
And from the silence the ages long, 
Has come the joy of a wood-bird's song. 

Broken souls in a barren vale, 
Created the need for a Holy Grail; 
And blasphemous sin painted for me, 
The pale, red bloom of the Judas tree. 

The costly price of hallowed tears 

Has sown the wastes through countless years; 

And over a crimson, riven sod 

Lies a clear, white road that leads to God. 



—28— 



MIRACLE 

It is so long ago I lived, 

Holding back the hours 

That sped through days of golden light, 

And brought me laughing showers. 

It is so long ago I died 

To shut my heart from pain, 

And yet, you reach your hands to me. 

And bid me love again. 



—29— 



VALUES 

I HEAE you crying for the Moon, 
When she drifts proudly by, 

And see you reaching for the wealth, 
She scatters in the sky. 

While I crave only strands of gold 

That fringe your melody, 
And moon-flowers growing in my heart. 

When you are kind to me. 



—30— 



FAME 

I LAY on the edge of desert sands, 

And watched It dance; 
Mirage was painted before my eyes, 

With brush of chance. 

I followed the track of the Phantom 

Down to the sea, 
And found that only a chill, spent wind 

Had called to me. 



—31— 



RAINBOW 

There was a house of many rooms, 
Windows and walls and doors, 

Where shadows etched the ceilings. 
And crept across the floors. 

There sunlight only flickered. 

And seemed a wanton ghost 
Lavishing an empty feast, 

Upon a motley host. 

When I left that changehng home, 

I hid my ragged scars, 
Then bound my heart with singing days, 

And night-time climbed the stars. 



-32- 



GLASS BEADS 

I WAS a mendicant, begging my bread 
From pilgrims shouting the dawn, 

And they gave me thorns that tore my robe. 
And took my prayers in pawn. 

But now, outside the Temple door, 

I stand and let them pass; 
While I watch for the sun on the Eastern hills, 

They fumble beads of glass. 



—33— 



WILLOWS 

When I loitered on the paths 
Of gay and vivid hours, 

My songs all ran away and hid, 
And seemed afraid of flowers. 

But in among the shadows, 
Beneath the willow tree. 

All my little unsung songs 
Come singing back to me. 



—34— 



THE DEAD LOVER 

You say I am dead, that my being 
Has passed with intangible dreams; 
You hold me a shadow of shadows, 
One moat in myriad beams. 

But I am the yield of the harvest, 
Astir in the ripening corn; 
My voice is the wind of the forest, 
I breathe and impregnate the dawn. 

I spring from the womb of the ocean. 
And rise in its flying foam, 
Till I merge with the quickening rain 
That falls on the fertile loam. 

Dear of my heart, when the moonlight 
Comes dusting the shimmering grass, 
You may lie unveiled in your bridal. 
My lips are on yours as I pass. 

You say I am dead, that communion 
Has spilled from our sacrament bowl, 
Nay, Love, I am seed of Creation, 
Immutable flame with the Whole. 



■35— 



LITTLE WHITE GATE 

Little painted, wooden gate, 

Swinging in and out, 
Crickets chirping in the grass, 

Honey-bees about; 

Hollyhocks and marigolds 

Laughing in the sun, 
Where quiet pools of shadows 

Ripple, one by one; 

Friendly glow of lamplight 
Across the window sill. 

From the dark a plaintive voice 
Calling "Whippoor-will." 

Moonlight trailing up the path 

Draperies of foam. 
Spell for me contentment. 

And the peace of home. 



—36— 



IMMORTAL 

Was he king or a bonded slave? 

The beauty he sang still sings, 
Vibrant as falling stars 

In the path of radiant wings. 

Does he sleep where the laurel grows? 

Did he beg his cup and his bread? 
He left the sign of his joy, 

And he lives with the mighty dead. 

Marked by the print of his feet, 
The dust of this ancient floor 

Glows, spun-flame in the dark. 

What matters the name that he bore! 



—37— 



MY COMMUNION 

Cupped in the hollow of your hands, 
You hold my hidden fears, 
My faith, the songs within my joy, 
And all my tears. 

Within the chalice of your heart, 
There brims compassion's mead. 
Bounty of foaming drink for me 
To quench my need. 

I grave the pattern of my love 
Upon your spirit's bowl, 
And in the splendour of your wine, 
I steep my soul. 



—38— 



STARS 

When I watch a pale, green sky, 
At night, upon the hills, 

I wonder if my garden bears 
Such blowing daffodils; 

And if the lustre of my dreams 
Comes from those amber rills. 



—39— 



DISAPPOINTMENTS 

In the Valley of Nadir lies a deep, black pool. 

And it mirrors only rainy harvest moons; 

In the fringes of its grasses are little bleached, 

white bones, 
And broken, faded ribbons, from gaudy, 

pricked balloons. 
Restless shadows stumble 'round it, through the 

hot nights and the cool, 
And their crippled feet are weighted down with 

stones ; 
Sometimes an echo whispers of golden, summer 

noons. 
But you only hear the wind there, when it 

moans. 



INTERLUDE 

When Night-time stoops to lay her hands 

Upon my tired eyes, 
And strings her silver lanterns 

Across the curtained skies, 

Reflected in the mirror. 

She holds above my sleep — 
I see a golden lotus, 

She bids me pick and keep. 

Then, drugged, my soul goes speeding 

Across a dream-swept plain. 
Until I stumble back at dawn, 

To break my heart again. 



—41— 



TO MY FATHER 

Although you touched my life so brief a time, 
Because of you, I tread the stressful years 
With courage, patterned from your quiet 

strength, 
And laughter tempering my meed of tears. 

Because of you, I hold and reverence books, 
High in my heart, as is my creed of song, 
And to the imprint of your kindliness. 
The measure of my love and faith belong. 

Because you held my hand that little while, 
I know a joy in all green, growing things. 
And rapture, when strong music breaks, and 

soars 
A veil of flame on iridescent wings. 

Your love has framed the window of my life. 
And as I watch the twilight creeping through, 
I know whatever sacraments T share 
With peace and beauty, are because of you. 



—42— 



CONFESSIONAL 

Red fire of dawn burning in the sky, 
Leaping from the purple embers of the night, 
A sovereign glory in a sapphire cup. 
This is my altar light. 

Rising from an early-kindled hearth, 
A pungent veil of smoke spirals in the air. 
And seems the incense drifting on my heart, 
That sanctifies my prayer. 

From beyond uncharted seas the wind, 

Like pilgrim priest, comes to bless the waking 

sod. 
And shrives me in my penitence, then bears 
My sorrow up to God. 



43- 



RECOMPENSE 

Though Hunger shuffles up the path, 
And leaves his pack of scars, 

When songs sweep through my heart — 
Bright sails on golden spars, 

I breathe the dust of lilies, 
Asleep among the stars. 



—44— 



MOCKERY 

I DREAMED Love camc with golden thong, 

And bound me to his wrist, 
Then swept me out on winds of flame. 

Through space the sun had kissed. 

Instead, Love came in jester's garb, 

Flaunting his cap and bells. 
And led me to a far, strange tent, 

Beside dead, desert wells. 



—45— 



REBELLION 

If Death should scatter poppy-dust 

Across my path tonight, 
Then wrap me in his cold, dark cloak, 

And shut me from the lights 

If he should point a strange, still way. 

How could I bear to go. 
And never feel again the sun, 

Nor watch a primrose grow? 



—46— 



THE MESSENGER 

When you walk a lonely road^ 
Hand in hand with pain, 

Do you see the broken leaves, 
Trodden by the rain? 

My heart was like a folded leaf, 

On an April tree; 
Listen to the rain at night. 

And know your hurt to me. 



—47- 



"NEEDLES AND PINS" 

Goblins came and took me 

Long ago, 
Tossed me up and down the years, 

To and fro. 

Drove me to surrender 

All my faith, 
And chuckled when they bound me 

To a wraith. 

But came a time the goblins 

Lost their zest 
For planting stones within my heart, 

As a jest. 

They left me in the garden 

With the weeds. 
And there I found my faith again, 

Sowing seeds. 



—48— 



TO JUNE 

June dreams. 

The twilight world's a-hush, 

The meadows flame with colors from a master's 

brush, 
And in my garden roses droop and blush; 
June sleeps and dreams. 

The singing wind blows gently through her 

sleep, 
While friendly, fragrant shadows keep 
Their vigils, beautiful and deep, 
With June, who dreams. 

Communion with my watching heart I hold. 
Until the day comes to unfold 
Her laughing hours, steeped in gold, 
For June, who dreams. 



—49- 



TO CONGDON 

When I look among the shadows in my soul, 
I am glad for every scar and sin; 
(Oh, little child, upon the threshold of my heart, 
Stay within!) 

I will mould to golden-tinted globes of pearl, 

My rebellion, with each bruising shame. 

And kindled from my dark, their light will keep 

your dreams 
Star-frost and flame. 

Then I will mend all broken songs of mine. 
To thread them on a many-colored string. 
That you may count them, as you lean against 

my heart. 
And learn to sing. 



—50- 



